Twenty Three months later.

"Forrest would you calm bloody down, come back here!!" I shout as he bounds away from me along the pavement towards the flat. Not even the snow slows him down. Honestly, that bloody dog. He wouldn't let me put the leash back on him as we'd left the north gate of The Meadows, instead ignoring me and bolting off home towards the flat. 

I watch as he kicks up puffs of white and stops to sniff an older couple who look nonplussed by his excitable efforts about their legs. "Sorry about that," I tell them as I reach him, moving him on with a light tug on his blue collar.  He sets off once again, bright copper coat shining under the rising moon. My breath feels hot and it clouds in translucent puffs in front of my face as I hurry along the pavement back home.

It's going to be bitter tonight, I can feel it already; the nip of February freezing the landscape into a glittering world of white.  Up ahead I see Forrest stop dead at the foot of the stairs to the front of the building, his tail waggling uncontrollably as he drools over yet another willing victim. Whoever it is is sitting down on the front step and so obscured by the low garden wall. I can only see legs and the clouds of airborne breathing, and then heavily clothed arms as two gloved hands reach out to rub at Forrest's thick glossy coat.

Just then a bus slushes along the road past me and I jump back as the brown muck leaden snow splashes up my legs. It doesn't get me too badly but I still glare round at the vehicle as it rolls past me.
"Well thanks very bloody much!" I snap at the thing, glancing angrily at the double decker. As I look up at the bus my heart leaps into my mouth at the sight emblazoned across the side of it.

His name in bold. His co-stars name in bold. The release date two days from now, in bold.

Will I go see it? I haven't decided yet. Sitting in the dark watching him from a twenty foot screen seems safe enough but I've had difficulty enough just looking at pictures of him for even the briefest moments for almost two years. I miss him. Which is odd. I've experienced a feeling of supreme loss since the day I dropped him off at the dock that bright February morning and it hasn't really abated any. Get over it Frankie.

Sometimes I think that maybe I'd dreamt the entire thing.  The whole thing had merely been some madness of the mind induced by too much wine, solitude and freezing temperatures. Safer that way. Less painful. I was going mad thinking about it anyway. Madness was at the end of every direction of thought open to me.

Still grumbling at the bus as it pulls away from the bus stop, I hurry along the snowy pavement to catch up with Forrest and his new friend. When I'm about ten feet away from my front door the figure stands up and takes a step down onto the pavement to stand in front of me. I glance up and almost skid to a stop, my snow boots crunching to a halt into the snow. Okay.  Yes.  I really have gone mad.

He's wrapped up well - green army style jacket, black hoodie underneath and a thick black woollen beanie style hat. His hands are gloved and shoved deep in the pockets of his dark baggy trousers and his boot clad feet are set about a foot apart giving him a far too relaxed stance. As I drink in the sight of him I feel my body start to warm all over as the memories start to rush in.

The memory of his mouth as it marked its way across my skin whispering desire into my ear. His hands as they teased and touched and tortured me in pleasure. His arousal as it slid deep inside my body. For three whole days we had lost ourselves in each other. Memories that I was supposed to leave on that island. Memories that I was supposed to bury somewhere inside me — memories that were not supposed to be jogged by the man standing in front of me now looking better than he ever had.

"Hello Frankie," he says softly. He thinks about smiling but mostly decides against it, the side of his mouth twitching up only slightly, temptingly.

"What are you doing here?" I question as calmly as my breathing will allow me to.

"Missed the weather," he says, casting a look upwards at the snow heavy sky.

"You know, it never snows when you're not here."

He laughs softly and nods, bringing those glittering eyes back to mine. "Well that's a fucking shame because you do look remarkably beautiful in the snow."

My body trembles all over as my mouth loosens into a smile. "What do you want? You didn't come here to charm me into bed again surely?" Oh how I bloody hope he came back to do that.

"Funny, I thought it was you who charmed me into bed?" He chuckles, heat filling his eyes. His expression swims with a shared memory he knows I also remember well.

I shake my head and take a step towards him. "No, I saved your life remember. From the elements. They were trying to kill you."

"Yeah, you saved my life. Then you tried to kill me with your insatiable sex drive," he retorts, lowering his voice to a soft growl. "Which would have been a far better way to go, trust me." He skims his eyes over my face, a dazed glassy look coming over them as his lips part. When he lets out a soft sigh it's warm and filled with longing.   As I recall, our sex drives were equally as insatiable - something I hadn't known about myself before him.

"You really do have a fascinating way of looking at things Tom," I reply. "But you've a terrible memory." I move past him and take the stairs up which lead to the gate down to my garden flat. The sound of him following me up them warms and excites me. When I open the gate however he hesitates, not moving forward even when I hold it open for him.

"My memory is just fine Francesca." He says, his eyes intense. The heat in his tone makes it up into his eyes too. How is it possible that he looks better now, two years on? Working as much as he has? Is he greyer under that hat? I don't look better. I know that. I'm sure I've put on weight and right now I've no make up on and I'm wearing a pom pom hat, old jeans and an old hoodie. This is completely unfair.

"Are you coming inside?" I ask, my voice unsteady and wary. He lifts a brow lasciviously and grins at me. I shake my head and move to leave him standing there but he moves too, following me down the front of the old building which houses my one bedroom flat. Situated on an ancient cobbled street in the centre of Edinburgh, it's a cozy haven away from the bustle of Princes street only ten minutes walk away.

As we take the stairs down I turn around and give him a questioning look. "How did you find me anyway?"

"I have my ways," he says.

"Is that supposed to sound romantic or creepy because you're hitting somewhere in-between the two right now."

"But more romantic than creepy?" He asks.

I give him a smile and turn to unlock the door before pushing it open into the scented warmth of the hallway. Thank god I'd spent the day tidying. I'd done a charity shop haul, three loads of clothes washing, and scrubbed the place from top to bottom dusting every nook and cranny.  Thank god for small (very small) mercies. Tom follows me into the large kitchen at the back of the house and stops to hover by the door as I put the kettle on and refill Forrest's water bowl.

"Tea? Coffee?" I ask, turning to him. He's taken off the hat and I see that he isn't any greyer than he was two years ago. His hair is shorter though, shaved close to the scalp at the sides but longer on top — a retro looking style which pronounces his features I think. I always thought I preferred him with longer hair but this new cropped style works well with the neat beard framing his beautiful mouth.

"Coffee would be great, yeah thanks." he nods, removing his gloves. He looks curiously about my kitchen, a small smile settled on his face, before he moves to unzip the outer layer he's wearing. He hangs his jacket over the dining chair closest to him and ruffles his hand over the top of his head and then down over his mouth. I lose myself in the sight of his hands for a moment, remembering with painful vividness how they tasted and felt inside me.  My mouth waters in need.

"So, you still haven't told me why you're here? Wait, are you pregnant?" I give him a look of shock.

He chuckles and it sets my pull racing even further. "Yeah, I am. Can you tell?" he pats his flat hard stomach.

"No, not at all — you look great."

He brings his eyes back to mine and smiles. "So do you sweetheart, so do you." My blood seems to ignite the instant the words leave his tongue, liquid fire spreading through my veins. It shoots outward to every nerve ending so that my body feels wildly aflame. I drop my eyes and shake my head as the emotions rushes up against my eyes. I can't do this.

"Well that's a lie," I roll my eyes.

"You still have no fucking clue do you?" He says, slightly irritated I think. When I say nothing his eyes narrow and he takes a step toward me.

Stepping back away from him I put my hands out to stop him. "Please don't Tom... I can't do this... not again," I whisper.

Other memories come back then, flooding in through the cracks: chewing a hole through the inside of my mouth as I drove him to the harbour, swallowing down every word I wanted to say to him as he thanked me and told me good bye. Swallowing every tear that I wanted to let go. Crying in the car for twenty minutes straight after he got on the boat.

He ignores my plea to stop and comes towards me anyway, inserting himself without care or concern into my body space. He pulls my hands away from my face and holds them out in his own and forces me to look at him.

"I know baby, I know," he says tenderly. " I know it and it's not why I came," he sees something in my eyes and shakes his head.  "Okay, I mean, it's partly why I came but it's not just that, I promise you Frankie, I never came here to hurt you," he explains.

When I narrow my eyes he grips hold of my hands tighter. "I don't know what that even means," I say.  "When's your boat this time? How many days do we have this time?"

"It's a plane, and tomorrow, but listen —" I yank my hands right out of his and move  further away, biting my cheek hard to stop the tears.

"No, then you should go now," I shake my head. "I've no intention of being this person to you, not again. I'm not going to be some port in whatever fucking storm. 'Oh I'm in Scotland, I haven't had sex in a while, I know who I can call.' I'm sorry but I'm just not going to be that—even to you. Not because I don't want to, because I do — oh believe me I do, I'm just not going to sit here and wait for you to drop by, waiting for the newest rumour of you and your next fuckbuddy slash co-star slash whatever to be blasted in front of my eyes, crying myself to sleep because I'm not good enough for you okay. I cant do that again so I'm just not going to be that, I can't —" He's in front of me again and his mouth is on mine again and his arms are holding me again and its everything that I remember it being.

He wraps his tongue around my own and pulls me into him with such force, tasting every single part of my mouth with such deep urgency, that I don't know where his mouth ends and mine begins. He growls quietly, an angry but aroused sound that matches the force with which he kisses me. When he pulls back from my mouth he's breathing hard and the taste of chocolate and wine lingers on my mouth. God he is so beautiful. I'm so weak and he is so beautiful.

"Is that seriously the only way to shut you up?" he asks. His eyes are serious but there's a touch of playful now. "I mean I'm not complaining, I'm just curious."

"Maybe," I pant. "But I meant every word."

He licks his tongue over his mouth tasting our kiss. "Yeah," he nods. "I know you did."

I nod. "Good."

"Come with me," he says. He moves his fingers down to my neck and strokes me there tenderly. More memories. His mouth there, his touch there, fire on my cold lonely skin.

"Come with you where? What are you talking about."

He sighs, exasperated, and glances about the kitchen. When he looks back at me he looks serious. Very serious. "Frankie, I haven't stopped thinking about you for nearly two years. Every night since I left you up there I've gone to bed wishing you were lying there beside me. Every morning I've woken up I wished you were lying there beside me. Honestly, I didn't think what happened with us would be anything close to what it was — what it is — and it certainly wasn't expected or planned. When I said we should leave it up there, I meant it at the time. I thought it was for the best. I didn't want to hurt you, or torture myself. I was going off on a six month shoot, then a four month shoot and then promotion and then another shoot, because that's my life. There was nothing I could offer you except a long fucking wait. I'm still not sure what I can offer you but whatever it is that you want then I want to try and give it to you. I will give it to you," he says with a passion I'd seen on him only on screen. It takes my breath away. His eyes are aflame with emotion. 

His words hang heavily in the air for long moments as I stare up at him in disbelief. He looks nervous as he waits for me to say something. Very slowly my mouth transforms into a smile, a wide smile of delight that makes him squeeze me closer to his body. When I reach my mouth up and kiss him deeply, stroking my tongue over his, I hear him moan low in his throat.

"Wow. What a monologue. Did you rehearse that all the way up?" I offer him another smile. His body and mouth soften immediately.

"Wrote, directed and produced it myself too," He says affecting his adorable proud face.

"Such a formidable talent," I shake my head in awe and he grins, adorably. "But where is it you want me to go?" I ask. "You said 'come with me', where is it you want me to go Tom?" I look about my kitchen, at Forrest, at my books piled on every available shelf. "I live here. I have books and a home and a Forrest."  I can't go anywhere. Can I?

He pulls me close again and brushes his lips softly over mine. "Well, first, London - I've a premier tomorrow that I need a date for — and since you saved my life preparing for this film, I want you there on my arm."

I widen my eyes. "On your arm?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Then we can talk about everything else. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want..." he says again. "I just want you with me... I need you with me. Him too." He looks over at Forrest and matches his adoring gaze. I feel something hot and wet behind my eyes again and I bite hard on my lip. Tom brings his eyes back to me and look in them now steals the breath right out of my lungs. "You're not a port in a storm Francesca," he says fervently. "You're a fucking lighthouse."

"A lighthouse?" I whisper, a tear slipping down my cheek.

"My lighthouse," he corrects. "Beautiful and covered in snow." He places a peck to the tip of my snow chilled nose.